


Freeze, Thaw, Then Bloom Again

by kestra_troi



Series: More Likely Than You'd Think [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bottom Jon Snow, Come as Lube, Established Relationship, Facials, Jonmund Week 2020, Light Angst, M/M, No penetration, North of the Wall (ASoIaF), Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post - Game of Thrones (TV), Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Size Difference, Smut, Soft Tormund Giantsbane, Spit As Lube, Tent Sex, Time Skips, To Be Edited, Wildling Jon Snow, Written quickly, jon is an angsty boy, top tormund
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Following the events of the finale, Jon is with the Wildlings heading out with Tormund to start a new life. He always did have a thing for gingers.Jonmund Week 2020 DAY 1: Canon
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: More Likely Than You'd Think [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674997
Comments: 8
Kudos: 127





	Freeze, Thaw, Then Bloom Again

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a paraphrase from a Shannon M. Mullen quote. 
> 
> This isn't finished, so it's a bit rough around the edges, but I wanted to get it posted in support of Jonmund Week. I envisioned this as merely the beginning of a longer sex scene, but who knows if I'll ever actually write more of it. Either way, enjoy!

Jon unbuckled his sword belt and rested the pommel against the edge of his cot. In the time they had traveled north with the remnants of the Wildlings, helping the few survivors to rebuild wherever they chose to be, they hadn’t come across anything more dangerous than wolves and bears. Now, they made their way peacefully towards Tormund’s home, with no enemies about. No walkers to fear. Still Jon kept his blade sharp and always by his side. Old habits.

Brushing the light dusting of morning snow from his shoulders, Jon removed his cloak and draped it over his cot. Next, came his gloves. The days here had lengthened and warmed, snow still fell often enough, but nowhere was the cold as devastating as it had been before. The chill retreated slowly and as days passed it became more and more obvious. It was not anywhere near as warm as the South, but it had changed. As they rode and walked on he noted every day that the North was not as cruelly, bitterly cold as he remembered. 

The tent had been assembled mostly to keep the snow out and the worst of the winds that swept the land. Tall enough for him and Tormund to stand, but not much bigger than their two cots and a pit for a fire. Jon rolled his shoulders. For each night he spent on watch, he sat up vigilant and alert. Tense for every moment. The lack of unnatural danger did nothing to ease his mind. He waited, poised for some new horror to spring out from the darkness. Ice spiders perhaps...

He had spent so many nights on watch over the Wall, grown accustomed to little sleep and dreadful boredom, yet the nights he and Tormund kept watch over their small band felt so much more draining than they need be. Jon laid down on his cot, pulling his cloak up to cover him in addition to his blanket of furs. He sighed listlessly and closed his eyes. 

Sometime later, the flap of their tent was pulled aside. Jon surged upright, eyes flying open, his hand going to his sword automatically; ready to heed the call. A head of ginger hair bobbed under the door as Tormund stepped inside. Jon waited, barely breathing. 

Eyebrow arched, Tormund studied his agitated tentmate for a moment and then offered Jon a simple nod in casual greeting before turning around to tie the tent flaps closed. Jon sighed through his nose, his shoulders drooping in relief. He released the leather grip of his sword and sagged into his cot. 

“Mighty jumpy for a free man safe in his bed,” Tormund quietly intoned.

“Nothing real is safe,” Jon countered. 

“Is that a saying you heard from your book masters?”

“Maesters,” Jon corrected on impulse. He smiled softly and Tormund’s kind attempt at riling him out of his unnerving thoughts. “And no. Thought it up myself.”

“Ah. No wonder it’s shit,” Tormund teased. Jon’s smile grew. Tormund untied his sword belt and let it drop unceremoniously to the ground. Jon watched it fall, envious at how easily his friend dropped the weight of duty. “When do we move on again?”

“Few more days yet,” the bigger man replied, throwing his gloves onto his heap of bedding. He took two steps over towards Jon and made himself comfortable at the foot of Jon’s cot. Jon raised further upright to keep his legs out from under his rude tentmate who bent over to undo the laces of his boots. 

“Want to give the girl a rest. We’re in no hurry.” 

“How is she? And the babe?”

“Strong.” Tormund beamed meeting Jon’s gaze with a bright, untroubled smile. Jon felt his heart stutter in the most pleasant way, a warmth filling him. Tormund, his people, the newest child. They were the future.  _ His  _ future. From now, until they burned his bones, he was one of the Free Folk again. Permanently. And for the first time in a while, the thought brought a certain expectation alongside the usual sadness. He could make a life for himself here, among these people. And this time he didn’t have to fight that urge.

There was no more duty to be upheld. No more vows to be obeyed. No more kings, or crowns, or thrones, or lords to be followed. Freedom, simple and clear, lay ahead of him as long as he allowed himself to grab it.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jon assured him. “I was, I don’t know, dozing, I guess.”

Tormund muttered something under his breath as he pulled his boots off and tossed them over to his side of their small tent. “What?”

“It’s our word for the place between being awake and asleep.”

“Oh.” Jon had never heard Tormund speak his own language. He hadn’t even realized Tormund spoke anything other than the Common Tongue. How many years had they known each other? This seemed to be something they should have discussed long before now. Maybe in the stead of all those impossible and dirty tall tales. 

A large, warm hand settled on his blanketed knee and Jon returned to the moment. He met Tormund’s eye, immediately recognizing the hungry yet open expression on the older man’s face. “Are you tired, my little crow,” he asked in a low, leading register.

Jon swallowed. He could feel the heat rushing to his face, turning his cheeks pink. He bit his lip, a smile breaking out over his face despite himself. He shook his head, blood coursing through every inch of him. “No, not anymore.”

“Good.” Tormund grinned, soft and feral all in one. Jon watched as the bigger man reached over and grabbed the other side of the cot, pulling himself onto his hands and knees on the thin pallet. He weaved to and fro like a wolf stalking his prey, slowly creeping up the bed.

In a sudden move, he yanked the furs off Jon, but unable to jerk them out from under his own bulk he simply let them pile onto the side out of his immediate way. Jon laughed, letting Tormund have his silliness and waited to be captured. This man had frightened him once. 

That seemed so long ago in a different life entirely. 

Tormund stopped a hair’s breadth away, face to face with his tentmate. Caught up in his act, he brushed his nose along Jon’s cheek and the younger man shuddered at the soft itch of his beard. He knelt in front of Jon, looming over him and for once Jon didn’t feel belittled or threatened. For once, he didn’t need to be in control. 

A large hand titled his chin upwards. The corners of his lips quirked into a small grin as Tormund searched his eyes for permission. Jon gave the barest of nods and Tormund, slowly, leaned down pressing their lips together. 

This had once frightened Jon too.

The night after they had left the Wall. 

The two of them, on watch.

A small fire between them.

That look on Tormund’s face.

The unbridled joy of riding away.

A shock like lightning.

So sudden and unexpected.

So full of heat.

Still so full of heat. Unlike that night, Jon surged forward into the kiss chasing the scratchy feel of Tormund’s beard against his skin, the taste of him, the warmth. Nothing in this world could make a man more alive. 

Towering over Jon, Tormund quickly undid the clasps and ties of Jon’s tunic before yanking the thing off of him. Jon shivered at the sudden chill, but Tormund was on him in that instant covering him head to toe with his bulkier body and keeping him dizzy with kisses. Jon gasped for breath as he was laid down like a damsel in an old tale. A lady being taken by her knightly lover. His blush deepened as he spread his legs and allowed Tormund to settle between his thighs... 

**

Jon’s fingers clutched the furs on their pallet, digging into the coarse hairs as Tormund resumed sucking at his bare hole. He moaned, wriggling in the man’s arms, his legs bent over his lover’s broad shoulders while Tormund’s beard tickled his skin and his tongue performed wonders. “Oh, gods...”

Tormund huffed, eyes crinkling in smug amusement as he kept swirling his tongue around Jon’s lightly haired arsehole. Jon flushed, unwilling to meet his tentmate’s eyes. Unwilling to admit he had been wrong and that Tormund had been right. He squealed, his body thrashing unable to directly follow the path of greatest pleasure as Tormund started stroking his shaft in time with his deviant tongue.

Eyes flying open, his hand scrambled to his lover’s nearby knee, clasping Tormund’s furs for support. “Tor,” Jon mumbled, wordlessly pleading as he watched the larger man devour him.

“Mmm,” Tormund growled. “My sweet, little crow.”

Jon shivered. Either from the chill of being naked in their tent, or his lover’s adoring voice, or the feel of Tormund rubbing his beard along his hole like an animal marking his property, or all three. Panting for each breath, Jon’s face properly reddened. 

For months they had shared a tent as easily as they had shared the dangers of the War and now they were sharing a bed as well, moving beyond the realm of friendship as they moved further north away from the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Here amid the ice and snow of the True North there was no time for wasteful prejudice. None in their camp cared if they shared one another. None batted an eye when Tormund kissed him in full view or when they returned from the hunt rumpled and empty-handed and giddy. 

A different world indeed. 

Tormund laughed at him, blowing warm air across his wet and sensitive hole. Jon mewled, shuddering as bumps broke out all over his arms and legs. Then the man dove in for more, quickening his pace both with his tongue and his hand on Jon’s cock. Suddenly, his toes curled and Jon gasped, “Tor! I’m going to--”

Hurriedly, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, going taut, as Tormund drew him over the edge. His own seed rained down onto his face, warm and pungent, landing in thick globs on his forehead and over his parted lips and into his beard. Jon moaned, panting for breath gazing up at his lover through heavily lidded eyes. He tugged at Tormund’s furs, fingers digging into the man’s firm thighs. “Tormund...”

“Wet as a baby seal,” Tormund replied. “Remember, boy?”

Jon nodded. Tormund traced his thumb across Jon’s lips and into his scruff, scooping his seed onto his fingers. Holding Jon’s gaze, he daubed his hole with the seed and spat upon it too. Jon groaned feeling Tormund’s thick, calloused fingers dig into his sensitive skin and then his tongue and beard. And soon, there would be more. 

“Oh sweet gods,” Jon mumbled, legs twitching as Tormund continued his second, slower siege. So much slower. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos welcome!


End file.
